


Silent Night

by aBOOKISHfreak



Series: Throne of Glass One-Shots [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Heir of Fire, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, it gets fluffy though, starts off kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aBOOKISHfreak/pseuds/aBOOKISHfreak
Summary: Rowan Whitethorn knew there was something different about the princess. He just didn't know what. When he finds out her secret, will he take back what he said before and fix that damage that was done?
Series: Throne of Glass One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797289
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, this was one of the first things I wrote, and only because I had it stuck in my head for a long time. I fully understand how serious these topics are, and don't want to have anything happen because of my story. This does involve self-harm and dark thoughts, but I hope the fluff will be worth it. Again, PLEASE don't read this if any of these topics trigger you, please take care of yourself.

Rowan was woken by a small gasp, followed by the creaking of the bed. He had been up long into the night, studying the map of bodies found. He had pondered the question floating around his mind, who, when, why? He had stayed up far longer than the princess, and when his mind hurt from the thinking, he had spent his time watching her sleep. The peaceful look on her face made her look ethereal, the soft rise and fall of her chest was soothing. There was no doubt that the young, powerful princess was thawing his ancient, immortal heart.

  
There was something about her. She was different from any princess he had met before. Aelin had this feeling of sorrow to her, this ever-lasting anguish that he felt from her, the sense of hardship that made his heart ache. Ever since the burnout, he had felt himself drifting closer to her, he’d allowed himself to feel a sense of companionship with her. Not many others shared his sense of loss, the awful things he had done to survive. Part of what he admired about Aelin was how she didn’t judge him for those things, as he had done for her.

  
He had noticed things about her though, things that were… strange. Things that didn’t add up. There was something she was not telling him, that was for certain. She thought he hadn’t observed the things. How she always wore long tunics, how she often smelled of herbs from the kitchens, the rare scent of blood he found, yet couldn’t pinpoint. Yes, there was definitely something wrong.

  
The near silent sound of footsteps jolted him from his thoughts, and he felt, rather than saw, as she carefully padded around the bed until she could see him. Rowan made sure to keep his breathing steady, his muscles relaxed, and eyes shut softly. After a moment, she stalked away, almost no noise coming from her footsteps, the immortal grace of her Fae form aiding her.

  
He heard the faint thud of the bathing room door closing, and almost relaxed. But the gasp she had made upon waking echoed in his ears. Then he felt it. The tug in his chest that told him to go to her, that something was wrong. At first, he tried ignoring it, but the knot tightened until, without knowing, he had sat up, and was walking across the floor on practiced, immortal feet. He crossed the room quickly, yet slowly enough as not to alert her to his presence. Rowan softly pushed the door open until he lurched to a stop and his breath caught at the sight in front of him.

  
Aelin sat hunched in the corner of the room, dark, crimson blood coating her arms, rolling down to her fingertips in rivulets, tear tracks staining her face. He noted her uneven breaths, shaking hands, and, more importantly, the bloodied dagger she gripped in her hand. As he saw her then, his heart shattered. Rowan thought back to the night of the burnout. He had seen her, seen the scars criss-crossing against her back, across her entire body. He must have dismissed them as just battle scars, nothing out of the ordinary for someone of her profession. But now he looked at her arms, her torso, the stark, pale scars that crossed her forearms, biceps, the flat planes of her bare stomach. The thin band across her breasts did nothing to hide them. The cuts bleeding on her arms were just some of the many straight, methodical scars all over her body.

  
She jumped as he felt himself gasp, completely out of control of his body. He saw the panicked look in her unique Ashryver eyes, saw her frantically scramble backwards, hitting the wall with a resounding thud.

  
He was still out of control as he heard a voice that was not his exclaim, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Aelin’s eyes widened as she fumbled for words, for an explanation. He mentally chastised himself for saying that, when what she needed was someone to comfort her, to be there, to lift her up instead of pushing her down.

  
“I- I didn’t -Rowan, I..”

  
“Why.” His voice was cold, full of ice as he tried to wrap his head around what he had just walked in on. How had he not seen this? How had he let it get this far? Rowan had known something was wrong, but this? This was wrong, she couldn't have.

  
Aelin’s face was emotionless, blank, her body sat unmoving. “Penance,” was all she said. Rowan opened his mouth to tell her that this was not penance, to comfort her, but she was not finished. “You were right,” She remarked quietly, “all those months ago. I probably would have been of more use to the world if I’d died ten years ago.”

  
At her words, the memories of the last few months rushed to his head. His mind replayed all of those awful things he’d told her.

  
_I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin._

  
_You’re a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered._

  
_Spineless and Pathetic._

  
_No discipline, no control, and no courage._

  
_Why don’t I give you the lashing you deserve?_

  
_You’re worthless._

  
_You would probably have been more useful to the world if you’d actually died ten years ago._

  
Rowan felt himself stiffen as he heard blood rushing in his ears. For a second, the sound Aelin’s ragged breathing faded away, and became lost in his thoughts. What if this was his fault? What if the things he said caused her to harm herself like this? He swallowed thickly, then, feeling her eyes focused on him, forced himself to calm down, for his body to relax. If he started this, he must be able to fix it, right? She needed him right now, needed him to be calm, to help her.

  
The prince slowly stepped forward, as if not to spook a frightened animal. He carefully knelt beside her and, making sure she knew what he was doing, reached out and grabbed the blade, taking it from her trembling hands and setting them on the ground next to him. As Rowan gently grabbed her wrists, avoiding the cuts on them, she shrunk back, a small, miserable sound slipping out of her.  
He reached out, gingerly pulling her to him. “That’s not penance, Aelin,” Rowan murmured. “You should have told me. Should have let me help you.” At his words, a choked sob gripped her, and she shook with it’s force. As carefully as he could, the prince gently lifted the princess into his arms, and carried her out of the bathing room. Aelin curled up against his chest, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. As he held her in his arms, he felt the deliciously smooth skin of her bare arms and legs, the only markings were the countless scars on her body. Rowan inhaled her intoxicating scent of jasmine and lemon verbena, the smell that occupied his mind at night, the smell that brought back memories of how sweet her blood had tasted, how he’d felt the wildfire living and breathing within her. He set her on the bed, sitting her down on the edge, and fixed her with a look that gave her no room to argue.

  
As he stalked back to the bathing room, Rowan’s head was filled with sorrow and horror. What if it really was his fault? Then he realized it. It had been a mistake to call her a girl, when she had already seen so much, had enough loss and pressure on her young shoulders. He couldn’t help but think about what he could have done differently, about how he could have helped her. Rowan filled up a bowl of water and crouched to grab a cloth from the cabinet below the basin. He walked back to the bed, only to see Aelin looking at her feet and wringing her hands.

  
Shock jolted through him. Rowan mentally smacked himself. Of course she cared what he thought about her for this. Rowan realized that he needed to choose his next words carefully, in order to gain her trust. If he wanted her to let him help her, he needed to approach this subject with caution. He hadn’t realized it before, but his heart ached for this lonely, pained princess. He wanted, no, needed to help her. For the first time, he understood why he had hated her at first. The same face that she made while talking about her previous life, about the boy she had loved, the captain she left behind, it was the same face he had seen in the mirror countless times. After losing Lyria, it was the face his cadre had said they saw, the reason that mortals went indoors when he arrived at their village, the reason his reputation was as it is.

  
Her loud swallow brought him out of it, and his eyes focused on her face. The Heir of Fire did not meet his eyes. When he peered deep into her eyes, it looked like all the embers in her had gone out, the golden flame in her eyes had dimmed. Rowan slowly walked over until he was directly in front of the princess. He knelt in front of her, gently grabbing her wrist and bringing her bloodied forearm up until it was resting on her knees. Thankfully, she didn’t resist, yet still kept her face turned to the side, her eyes on the floor. Rowan started gently wiping the blood off her arm. The princess didn’t even flinch at the sting.

  
He worked in silence for a while, and she sighed in relief, perhaps at the question he was carefully refraining from asking. She was lucky. By the time Rowan had stopped her, Aelin had only gotten to one arm, but there were red lines all the way up it. She had cut so deep, he was amazed she didn’t show her pain from this. Finally, when he finished, and had put the cloth back in the now red-stained bowl, Rowan looked up at her. She didn’t meet his eyes. Slowly, as gently as he could, the prince reached up and gently gripped her jaw, and tilted her face to him. He was careful not to pain her, enough force to get her to just look at him.

  
What the prince saw in her eyes fractured him. They were rimmed with red, tears of fear and embarrassment welling in them. Those beautiful, special, wild eyes. What he saw then, reminded him of his mission. The fear and utter hopelessness in her eyes nearly destroyed him, but Rowan saw what he needed to do to erase how lost she felt, whatever had compelled her to do this to herself.  
The prince quickly released the princess and sat next to her on the bed. “Aelin,” A pause, the long silence hanging between them. “Aelin,” He tried again, with no response. She didn’t even want to look at him. How could Rowan help her if she didn’t want to be helped? He took in a slow breath. “Please talk to me.”

  
Aelin took a shaky breath and swallowed. “It started when I was thirteen. The nightmares, the visions. They would come to me in dreams. My parents, my uncle, the ones who died while I lived. Told me that it was my fault. That if I was stronger, they might still be alive. That I should feel guilty for living while they died. It was always my family, sometimes my nursemaid and father’s captain of the guard. They told me I deserved it, that all the people I had harmed, had killed for Arobynn, needed justice. Once I started, it was hard to stop. Then, at fifteen, it was the people I had failed, my cousin, Wendlyn’s royal family, my people. I needed to pay for everything I’d done, for everyone I hurt.”

  
But the princess wasn’t done. “Why would you care? All you’ve ever told me was how worthless I was, that I should be dead.” Rowan sat paralized for a second. Was that really what she thought? Had he not apologized for that? He cared for her far more than he had for any person in the last century.

  
“Of course I care, Aelin. More than you can imagine. More than I should,” the prince said, gazing at Aelin with soft, gentle, pine green eyes. Rowan gingerly reached out, grabbing her wrist and stroking gently. He saw tears start to well in her eyes and panicked inside, afraid of what he might have done, how the gesture might have affected her. Then Rowan realized that her tears were not from fear at all, but rather from delight.

  
Rowan tried again, “That’s not penance, Aelin. You can feel bad about what you did, but from what you told me, it sounds like all that you did was to survive. You don’t need to feel guilty about living. You know as well as I do that they would have wanted you to live, to make the most about the second chance you were given. I think you know in your heart that what you did was to survive, and would not have killed for that man unless you were desperate. You know your family would never think that about you, it’s not real.” Leaning back against the bed, Rowan wrapped the Heir of Fire in his arms, and held her close to his chest.

  
“I know it hurts to live without them, I felt the same for a hundred years after Lyria died, but you need to take what you can get. I know what it’s like to lose someone like that, I know how painful it is, but you need to try. You know that it’s what they would want. Your parents would want you to live, your uncle would want you to live, the rest of your court and the people of Terrasen. They need you now more than ever. You have a job to do, Aelin, they need you to try. You have already seen so much at such a young age, you have done enough for others, from reducing the slaves to helping the King’s victims. Now, even though you have not told me what you want to know from Maeve, I know it is for the good of our world. The promise you made your friend was not out of greed. You’re not a monster, Aelin, you’re not evil. I know why you want to punish yourself for your sins, I know more than any other person. I’ve been doing the same things for two hundred years. After Lyria, I was just like you. I understand, but I need you to promise me something. Can you do that, Aelin?”

  
He felt her stiffen against his chest, felt her hesitate. Slowly, she pulled back from him enough to look into his eyes. _Please, Fireheart. I need you to promise me._ He knew exactly what his face conveyed. Knew she did too.

  
Carefully, deliberately, she nodded. Rowan took it as a good sign, and continued using their wordless language. _I need you to promise that you’ll talk to me. That if you ever feel like this again, you’ll tell me. Let me help with the nightmares, let me show you how to get rid of the visions. I want you to promise that you will try, Aelin. Try for your parents, your uncle, for your cousin. Try for Sam. For me. But most importantly, I need you to try for yourself._

  
The princess gazed up at him with, hopeful, yet tired eyes. _I promise, Rowan._

  
The prince gently stroked her hair, pulling her flesh against him once again. He inhaled her sweet scent, savouring the softness of her silky hair, the long, thin golden strands glowing softly in the moonlight from the window. “I knew my immortal brilliance would be of use somewhere,” he murmured playfully.

  
“Buzzard,” the heir of fire mumbled, exhaustion clouding her voice. Glancing down at Aelin, Rowan realized how close she was to sleep.

  
The prince tucked the princess into his chest, wrapping his arms around her lean frame, and curling around her protectively. “Sleep now, Fireheart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come visit me on Tumblr @abookishfreak


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